The first week was a whirlwind of fun and social/cultural activities, as well as getting acclimated to the farm and the routine there. I don't think I can remember all of it, but I want to describe the highlights here for all of you.
Walks with the dogs: In the evenings, until sunset, it became my custom that first week to take a walk with the two dogs. Zoltane, a big French shepherding dog, was wonderfully smart and she loved to find the biggest stick imaginable and run after and wrestle with you for it. She was quick to learn your tricks and then use one or two of her own. Nackisse was 5 months old at the time, and a loveable, mischievous little blond scruffy puppy. She had obviously injected a new playfulness into Zoltane. They were always up for a walk, and had a lot of fun running around after each other, usually with a stick of some kind. Every so often I'd throw it, but they were pretty content to play with each other somewhere nearby while I strolled. They would run out ahead of me, and then wait for me to catch up. I wandered all round the hiking trails near the house, and up the road a ways. The views were fabulous, and I could see the house back over the hill, as it got smaller. The rocks were many-colored and soft in the road cuts, and I began to learn my way around. I love the way the late afternoon and early evening light would color the landscape. It was so quiet. The silence of the woods there was so loud, so present.
Hiking in the Cévennes! : The Wednesday of that week, I went out on a wonderful hike with my host, Brigitte - with a hiking group that she's in. We hiked up the Mt. Brion, in the 'Forêt Dominale de la Vallée Borgne' (which is, they said, an archaic word for 'springs' - and there were a lot of them, pouring out of the mountain as we hiked along the road and the trails!). We saw an example of a 'clède' - a stone structure built on mountainsides in the area for drying fresh-picked chestnuts during the Fall harvest. Built using the slope of the hillside, the upper level would hold the chestnuts, and the lower level is where they would build a fire. The fire would heat and de-humidify the chestnuts above - and people discussed a delicious, hearty traditional soup that the local people would make and eat from the chestnut flour produced in the region. It was hearty enough to keep people from starving when times were tough and there was little to nothing else to eat. There were also many ruins of grand old houses and terraced grounds. One in particular was a small collection of houses built together that some people had begun to renovate. Now in dis-use, there were nonetheless some solar panels on the side of the tall, 'cévenole' stone house that captured some of the sun's energy that hit its heights - and a meterological instrument nearby that was collecting data. We also saw one of the oldest bridges along the 'Gardon' river (one arm of the River Gard that eventually runs under the Roman Aqueduct known as the 'Pont du Gard' - 'Bridge of the Gard'). After a long and meandering hike around the area, and up a steep(!) incline up to the top of Mt. Brion - we got to stop and eat our picnic lunch. In fine French style, there was coffee, and apéritifs and chocolate and treats to share around - and much lively conversation. It was a wonderful day, and a great opportunity to get to talk to a lot of wonderful, interesting, warm people. Thank you, Brigitte!
Where is Nackisse?? That evening, we came back and couldn't find Nackisse, the younger of the two dogs. As she was still a puppy, we were worried. Brigitte especially so. We went all over the area right around the house, down to the village nearby - Les Egladines - and all around the Col d'Uglas, where the hiking trails cross the road near le Mazel. We visited the farm where her mother lives. The whole time we were calling - 'Naaaackiisse!' When it got dark, we had to give up and go back to the house, hoping that she was okay, and we'd find her in the morning.
That evening, there were two musicians who came to spend the night at the 'gîte d'étappe' at Le Mazel. They were taking advantage of the "table d'hôte" option, and having dinner prepared for them (with us). It was a very nice way to end a long day (and relieve a little stress from Nackisse being lost) - and after great conversation at dinner, we went into the living room and made a fire, and they played for us. Ahhhh.... :-) Lovely! What a great way to end the day... so warm, down to earth, and it filled us (all, I think) with that heart-satisfying feeling of time spent among kindred spirits and friends.
Anduze hike/Nackisse found! : The next day, Brigitte needed to go into the nearby (larger) town of Anduze. I had gone through Anduze (see description in earlier post!) on the bus to get to St. Jean du Gard (where I had been picked up) - and I was excited to go back and explore, as it had made an impression on me. It is called 'La Porte des Cévennes' (the door to the Cévennes) with good reason. It is nestled at the edge of an expanse of a fairly flat area, right up against the first of the mountains in the Cévennes - striking slanting cliffs of white stone capped and lined with green, rising up on either side of the Gardon river with just enough room between them for the river and road to wind through and a few houses nestled up against the cliffs.
While Brigitte had some errands to run, and now knowing that I liked to hike, she showed me the trail head for the path that led up the steep, impressive cliffs - to where you could look out over all Anduze, and beyond it, to the countryside that spread out along the Gardon river meandering from this doorway out of the mountainous cévenole landscape towards Nîmes.
It was breathtaking, and exhilarating, winding my way up through the rocky landscape - sometimes scrambling, sometimes walking along the eroding seams of side-turned rock layers. And always following the path-markings carefully painted on the rocks - constantly delighted by the plants and views I saw along the way. It filled me with nothing short of triumph, and wonder.
When I descended into town, after some more exploring, I met Brigitte in the heart of town, near the famous clock tower. She had good news as we were leaving - Nackisse had been found! Brigitte got a call from the hiker from my first full day - the good-natured puppy had followed her on her hike, and didn't want to double back when she realized what was happening. She had been unable to call Brigitte until then. Plans were made to get her back home.
Sad news from the U.S. : The ride home was made in good cheer with this news. When we got back, there was a message for me from my brother. He wanted me to call him asap. When I did, I learned that my maternal grandmother, who had been ailing, had passed away. There was a memorial being planned for a weekend when I was supposed to still be in France. My other two brothers, who live in England, were planning to leave the next weekend - and I had a hard decision to make: whether or not I wanted to try to come back for the Memorial. It was a sad and difficult thing to learn, and to have to decide.
Three things made this news, and this decision, more bearable, and more clear. Firstly - Brigitte's words/wisdom: 'Souvent, avec le soir arrive la calme.' (Often, with the evening, comes peace/calm). She suggested I take a walk, as was my habit. Also a conversation with my Aunt (my mother's sister, and the daughter of my grandma who had passed away); she suggested that I find a peaceful place, and 'talk' to my Grandma's spirit. See if she had anything to say. She also helped me to realize that everyone that I would want to see - even family that we didn't see very often - I had visited with already this year. And that knowing Grandma, she would probably never want me to cut short such a fantastic experience for her sake...
Thirdly, it was the dogs. I went out on my walk, hoping to be alone - but sure enough, the dogs were as rambunctious as ever. I was a little peeved by them, at first - I was emotional, and just wanting some quiet, peaceful place to mull things over. Well, I soon reconciled - and then welcomed - their presence. The late sun shone golden on a spot along the old road I was following. It invited me to sit there, and bask in its glow. I did. I spoke out loud, after some reflection - as the dogs were doing their usual playing nearby - I asked: 'What should I do, Grandma?' with tears in my eyes. And then, Zoltane came up to me, gently put her paw on my leg, and pressed her weight into it. It took me a minute to believe this had happened, just like that. I started to doubt it... and then remembered that my Grandma had always had a deep and abiding affection and respect for dogs. I felt asked to stay by the dogs, whom I already loved, and late afternoon sun, shining golden on me, and embracing me with its warmth. It was a hard decision to come to... but these three things pointed me in the right direction.
I am eternally grateful for Brigitte, and the dogs of Le Mazel, and my Aunt and family, who gave me the permission to stay, and have this wonderful experience.
[More posts to follow on my remaining time at Le Mazel, and my other visits in France before returning home, though they will likely not be in the proper order. They will, however, be charming and well-written :) - Katydid 2/2/13]
Grandma passed away
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Le Mazel! (Part 2A-first full day)
The first week at the farm was full of adventures, new characters, breathing deep the mountain air, being present in their stillness, and basking in the extroardinary light; it prepared me well for the end of the week, that brought some sadness, and a difficult decision.
Brigitte, my host, is full of energy. As I was struggling to switch over to thinking in French again, it was both good and challenging to have her as my main conversation partner. She speaks very fast, even by French standards, and is also often on the move at the same time. It forced me to concentrate(!), and move a little faster myself to keep up! I could tell the first full day that she was thinking about her son, and feeling his absence keenly. It seemed a good day to listen, too.
After a brief introduction to some of the chores and the kitchen/pantry, and the chestnuts in the freezer (oh, the chestnuts!), she took me to the garden and showed me how to cut off lettuces already big enough to eat (frisée, and oak leaf? - that would grow back!) that we would use in our meals. This was something I ended up doing often. Along the path to the garden, I saw a purple patch of grass, thick with spring violets (at the end of February, they were a welcome sight!). Brigitte told me they were edible. I tried one. Mmmm... like eating a bite of pure Spring. Fresh and alive, tangy-sweet. Violet. :-)
(Need I say... it was the first bite of many! There were big patches everywhere I walked often.)
We had lunch outside in the courtyard that day, after I got settled in a little and played with the dogs, and I could tell that she was thinking of her son. After lunch, we went to look for an internet connection. She got a call from her son, and long story short - she had another opportunity that evening to spend some time with him, and needed to go. It was strange to be on my own that night already, but there was a hiker who had come in and was staying there that night. It was nice to be trusted, and as Brigitte suggested, I invited her down for a sit by the fire. It was a great conversation - she lives in Nantes (in Brittany), where I was a student, and we had many things in common.
I went to bed that night thinking how good it was to be where I was, how happy I had made this trip happen... and how wonderful it is to have a friendly place to lay one's head on the journey.
Brigitte, my host, is full of energy. As I was struggling to switch over to thinking in French again, it was both good and challenging to have her as my main conversation partner. She speaks very fast, even by French standards, and is also often on the move at the same time. It forced me to concentrate(!), and move a little faster myself to keep up! I could tell the first full day that she was thinking about her son, and feeling his absence keenly. It seemed a good day to listen, too.
After a brief introduction to some of the chores and the kitchen/pantry, and the chestnuts in the freezer (oh, the chestnuts!), she took me to the garden and showed me how to cut off lettuces already big enough to eat (frisée, and oak leaf? - that would grow back!) that we would use in our meals. This was something I ended up doing often. Along the path to the garden, I saw a purple patch of grass, thick with spring violets (at the end of February, they were a welcome sight!). Brigitte told me they were edible. I tried one. Mmmm... like eating a bite of pure Spring. Fresh and alive, tangy-sweet. Violet. :-)
(Need I say... it was the first bite of many! There were big patches everywhere I walked often.)
We had lunch outside in the courtyard that day, after I got settled in a little and played with the dogs, and I could tell that she was thinking of her son. After lunch, we went to look for an internet connection. She got a call from her son, and long story short - she had another opportunity that evening to spend some time with him, and needed to go. It was strange to be on my own that night already, but there was a hiker who had come in and was staying there that night. It was nice to be trusted, and as Brigitte suggested, I invited her down for a sit by the fire. It was a great conversation - she lives in Nantes (in Brittany), where I was a student, and we had many things in common.
I went to bed that night thinking how good it was to be where I was, how happy I had made this trip happen... and how wonderful it is to have a friendly place to lay one's head on the journey.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Le Mazel! (Part 1)
I took my first TGV ('train à grand vitesse' - high speed train) trip of the journey on February 28th, and that took me to Nîmes. Home of ancient Roman ruins ('Les arènes' - the arena - among others) and the most fabulous gardens: 'Les jardins de la Fontaine,' built around the foundations of the old fountain, and encompassing the ruins of the temple of Diana. I went there from the train station, with my backpack and rolling suitcase, as I had some time before my bus to St Jean du Gard.
I saw men playing pétanque (a game sort of like bacci, but more subtle, using metal balls), and let myself be enchanted by the sunlight of the south, and the way it played off the water. A group of older people on benches, having an afternoon chat, started talking to me - warning me (over and over) that I should be careful walking around with my luggage like that. People were not to be trusted...! (I thanked them - many times! - for their concern, promising to be careful... and went on being enchanted... and, carefully, amused :)
Once I got on the A12 bus, destined for St Jean du Gard (costing an amazing 1 euro 50!), I relaxed and enjoyed the scenery of the little towns we passed through on our way (and the amazing skill of European bus drivers, to maneuver such huge buses down the narrow little pictoresque streets). The landscape was pretty flat most of the way, until we reached Anduze. This town, known as the 'Porte des Cévennes' (Door to the Cévennes) straddles the river called the Gardon (that later becomes the Gard), where there is a steep window cut through the mountains by the river, as it washes out onto the plain stretching all the way to Nîmes.
As we drove into Anduze, with its breathtaking scenery, the sun was setting, and I got my first peek at the mountains. My face was glued to the window, and I knew I was going to like being in this area. By the time I arrived in St Jean du Gard, it was dark. Etienne, the son of my farm host, Brigitte, was there to meet me at the bus stop. We took the winding drive up to the farm (called 'Le Mazel'), while conversing about many things. It was his last night there after 2 months - he was leaving the next day, returning to Russia (and a somewhat uncertain future).
Dinner was good, I got to chat a little more with Brigitte, meet the animals (2 dogs, 2 cats) and learn the routine for feeding them, and then slept in the room for the 'gîte' (sort of like a hostel/bed & breakfast, but on a smaller, more familiar scale) that night... it all felt good. I felt I had arrived in a good place. :-)
I got a good night's sleep, which was good(!) - I had a full week ahead of me...
I saw men playing pétanque (a game sort of like bacci, but more subtle, using metal balls), and let myself be enchanted by the sunlight of the south, and the way it played off the water. A group of older people on benches, having an afternoon chat, started talking to me - warning me (over and over) that I should be careful walking around with my luggage like that. People were not to be trusted...! (I thanked them - many times! - for their concern, promising to be careful... and went on being enchanted... and, carefully, amused :)
Once I got on the A12 bus, destined for St Jean du Gard (costing an amazing 1 euro 50!), I relaxed and enjoyed the scenery of the little towns we passed through on our way (and the amazing skill of European bus drivers, to maneuver such huge buses down the narrow little pictoresque streets). The landscape was pretty flat most of the way, until we reached Anduze. This town, known as the 'Porte des Cévennes' (Door to the Cévennes) straddles the river called the Gardon (that later becomes the Gard), where there is a steep window cut through the mountains by the river, as it washes out onto the plain stretching all the way to Nîmes.
As we drove into Anduze, with its breathtaking scenery, the sun was setting, and I got my first peek at the mountains. My face was glued to the window, and I knew I was going to like being in this area. By the time I arrived in St Jean du Gard, it was dark. Etienne, the son of my farm host, Brigitte, was there to meet me at the bus stop. We took the winding drive up to the farm (called 'Le Mazel'), while conversing about many things. It was his last night there after 2 months - he was leaving the next day, returning to Russia (and a somewhat uncertain future).
Dinner was good, I got to chat a little more with Brigitte, meet the animals (2 dogs, 2 cats) and learn the routine for feeding them, and then slept in the room for the 'gîte' (sort of like a hostel/bed & breakfast, but on a smaller, more familiar scale) that night... it all felt good. I felt I had arrived in a good place. :-)
I got a good night's sleep, which was good(!) - I had a full week ahead of me...
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Paris! 2/24 - 2/28
The first time I arrived in Paris by myself was also a challenge, when I was a college student, and in lieu of the expected meeting up with other people from my program, I had to use the French I knew to navigate the transport system, and find my way to my hotel (which had changed, since I didn't make it in time to keep my previous reservation!). After making my way through all that (and learning in the process that people really cared more about understanding you, than whether or not your grammar was perfect), I felt like I could do anything.
Well, many years later (I won't say how many!), it was a special treat to be met at the end of the journey from the airport by such welcoming and familiar faces, my former host parents from so long ago. I was touched by their generosity and welcoming spirit, even though it has been so long since the last time I've seen them, and I haven't been as good at keeping in touch as I'd like to have been. The time at the apartment with them, and visiting their daughter, Dominique (and her kids), was spent talking, and watching tv programs on history and archaeology, news, and indigenous cultures around the world. They told me of their travels in the States, and to the little town of Monpazier, where I was headed to do a volunteer work camp one summer (one of the last times I saw them).
I took most of my meals with them, and spent several of the afternoons off exploring and wandering in the City. This time, in lieu of the old haunts, closer to the Gare de l'Est, the Île de la Cité and the Seine - the 'Quartier Latin' - I was situated near the Champs de Mars and the Eiffel Tower. My wandering took me by Les Invalides, and by the Musées Branly and d'Orsay. Along the park next to the Seine in between, and among the little streets behind. Also around the Tour Montparnasse, and up through the length of the Jardins de Luxembourg.
When I did make it to the Student, or Latin, Quarter - I got a crêpe from the little corner bistro, and was welcomed by the sounds of a brass band playing in the Place St. Michel (eventually will have a video here!). The man who made me the crêpe said (aptly!), smiling happily, motioning toward the music and bopping along - "Nous avons de l'ambience aujourd'hui, eh?!" (We've got a good ambience/atmosphere today [because of the music], don't we?!)
Well, many years later (I won't say how many!), it was a special treat to be met at the end of the journey from the airport by such welcoming and familiar faces, my former host parents from so long ago. I was touched by their generosity and welcoming spirit, even though it has been so long since the last time I've seen them, and I haven't been as good at keeping in touch as I'd like to have been. The time at the apartment with them, and visiting their daughter, Dominique (and her kids), was spent talking, and watching tv programs on history and archaeology, news, and indigenous cultures around the world. They told me of their travels in the States, and to the little town of Monpazier, where I was headed to do a volunteer work camp one summer (one of the last times I saw them).
I took most of my meals with them, and spent several of the afternoons off exploring and wandering in the City. This time, in lieu of the old haunts, closer to the Gare de l'Est, the Île de la Cité and the Seine - the 'Quartier Latin' - I was situated near the Champs de Mars and the Eiffel Tower. My wandering took me by Les Invalides, and by the Musées Branly and d'Orsay. Along the park next to the Seine in between, and among the little streets behind. Also around the Tour Montparnasse, and up through the length of the Jardins de Luxembourg.
When I did make it to the Student, or Latin, Quarter - I got a crêpe from the little corner bistro, and was welcomed by the sounds of a brass band playing in the Place St. Michel (eventually will have a video here!). The man who made me the crêpe said (aptly!), smiling happily, motioning toward the music and bopping along - "Nous avons de l'ambience aujourd'hui, eh?!" (We've got a good ambience/atmosphere today [because of the music], don't we?!)
Friday, March 11, 2011
A Paris! (2/24)
After leaving the airport in Birmingham (where the Coventry clan saw me off!), I flew into Charles de Gaulle airport in France. I am lucky to have mostly flown into Orly airport the times I've arrived in France by air… let me just start by saying that I chose to fly into Paris because I got a good deal on a ticket, and it seemed worth it to fly in lieu of a more expensive Eurostar (Chunnel) train ticket (or having to make it to London again, and then the train station at a very early hour).
Well, it turns out if you do not check in online and register your checked bag that way with this discounted airline (FlyBe), it costs you a whopping £30 (that's about $54 USD). This is a cautionary tale - don't let it happen to you!
So… I make it to CDG, with a few Euros that my Dad gave me, and start to look for a bus that will take me to the 'Aérogare des Invalides' that is apparently very close to where my old host family now lives (in the 7th Arrondisement, right next to the Champ de Mars - and the Tour Eiffel). It turns out there is no direct bus from CDG, only from Orly. Well, ok - the nice man at the information window gets out a map of the transit system and shows me how to get to Invalides on the RER (local trains).
I get to the where the RER station is in the airport, and go to buy a ticket at one of the machines. It costs about 8 Euros, the machine tells me, to get into Paris (although that seems high?)…and then it refuses to take my bank card. Or bills. Just Euro coins. So, I go to the information window near the RER station to talk to a person - and they are not too helpful. I go to buy something at the newsstand store to get change (meanwhile, I'm lugging all my luggage around with me!)… only to be told that there is a change machine nearby (hidden from view from the machines by a big pillar), and he cannot make change for a 5 euro note. It turns out, the change machine can't, either!… So, finally (after calling my host family, who awaits my arrival patiently, which was estimated as being about a half hour before this moment), I just go and get money out of the ATM (and pay the outrageous $6 fee my bank charges me), and get my change and ticket…and I'm off on the RER and walking adventure that finally gets me to 46 avenue de la Bourdonnais, Paris.
(Whew!) In the end, I think it might have been better to take the train…! That's what I'm going to do on my way back to England, for sure. Before I say more about all of the really great things about being in Paris again - I just have to say how frustrating (and funny) it was to be able to speak the language, and still have so many problems getting what I needed, figuring out the 'system' at work. It's times like those that you think it's set up to be frustrating and to make you feel inept and culturally maladjusted if you're not 'from here'. I've felt like that in Boston when I first arrived, and sometimes in other big cities in the US, when I use the public transport system for the first time. I can't imagine how much harder that would have been if I didn't speak the language(!)...
(Next, Paris adventures...then the WWOOFing! Pictures when I can upload them...)
Well, it turns out if you do not check in online and register your checked bag that way with this discounted airline (FlyBe), it costs you a whopping £30 (that's about $54 USD). This is a cautionary tale - don't let it happen to you!
So… I make it to CDG, with a few Euros that my Dad gave me, and start to look for a bus that will take me to the 'Aérogare des Invalides' that is apparently very close to where my old host family now lives (in the 7th Arrondisement, right next to the Champ de Mars - and the Tour Eiffel). It turns out there is no direct bus from CDG, only from Orly. Well, ok - the nice man at the information window gets out a map of the transit system and shows me how to get to Invalides on the RER (local trains).
I get to the where the RER station is in the airport, and go to buy a ticket at one of the machines. It costs about 8 Euros, the machine tells me, to get into Paris (although that seems high?)…and then it refuses to take my bank card. Or bills. Just Euro coins. So, I go to the information window near the RER station to talk to a person - and they are not too helpful. I go to buy something at the newsstand store to get change (meanwhile, I'm lugging all my luggage around with me!)… only to be told that there is a change machine nearby (hidden from view from the machines by a big pillar), and he cannot make change for a 5 euro note. It turns out, the change machine can't, either!… So, finally (after calling my host family, who awaits my arrival patiently, which was estimated as being about a half hour before this moment), I just go and get money out of the ATM (and pay the outrageous $6 fee my bank charges me), and get my change and ticket…and I'm off on the RER and walking adventure that finally gets me to 46 avenue de la Bourdonnais, Paris.
(Whew!) In the end, I think it might have been better to take the train…! That's what I'm going to do on my way back to England, for sure. Before I say more about all of the really great things about being in Paris again - I just have to say how frustrating (and funny) it was to be able to speak the language, and still have so many problems getting what I needed, figuring out the 'system' at work. It's times like those that you think it's set up to be frustrating and to make you feel inept and culturally maladjusted if you're not 'from here'. I've felt like that in Boston when I first arrived, and sometimes in other big cities in the US, when I use the public transport system for the first time. I can't imagine how much harder that would have been if I didn't speak the language(!)...
(Next, Paris adventures...then the WWOOFing! Pictures when I can upload them...)
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Coventry and environs! (2/16-2/24)
After leaving Charney Manor, I took the train to Coventry, where I was met by my brother Adam, and we dropped off my luggage, and went to a local eatery/pub where we 'tucked in' and had a beer. He was not having the best of days, unfortunately (re-organization at the university where he works, uncertainty about the future), but it was great to see him, and in the end, it seemed I'd arrived at a good time.
Coventry is a funny mix of old and new - charming medieval buildings (and extensive history) juxtaposed with modern (not so built-to-last or aesthetically pleasing). So many parts of the city are not so pretty to look at - but what I love about Coventry (aside from the fabulous people who live there - people in my family - and yes, I am a little biased! :) is that there is so much history, so much to discover. The sense you get of how impressive the town has been…(and maybe could be again?).
The name, if I remember correctly, comes from the fact that it was originally a meeting place in the countryside, where people would gather, by a big tree. A church (and later a cathedral?) was eventually built there - and one can see the foundation of one of the churches to follow, and the story of Coventry's beginning, in a park in town.
Being in the middle of England, it is where a lot of old (and current) roads and transports intersect, which helped it to grow in size and importance. It has been known for many industries over time (especially automotive and bicycles), and had some massive cathedrals. The smallest of which, St. Michael's church (still impressive in size), famously blazed after Coventry was bombed in WWII (after Dresden). The next day, when going to survey the damage, the priest found two timbers in the rubble, in the definitive shape of a cross. He found this to be a sign from God - that bombing Dresden had gone too far, that a different way must be found.
Coventry was the first town in England to welcome German students after the war - and as a testimony to the destruction of war, and what that sign meant to Coventry, the old Cathedral was left a ruin. The new Cathedral was built right next to it, and is a place dedicated to reconciliation. It houses a Center for Peace and Reconciliation, and many important pieces and objects within it were donated as symbols of solidarity in peace and reconciliation efforts, from different countries, and representing different faith traditions.
What really struck me on this visit was how many different types of industry Coventry has had and been known for - and that they have, pretty much, all left. How hard-working, skilled, and down to earth its people are, and have been - over centuries. (And the sadness of that talent and industry going to waste). It is really an impressive history. In such a small, and unassuming town.
I have benefitted from the fact that between my brother and my sister-in-law, they know almost everybody in their neighborhood. Having children in the school there, and knowing a lot of other parents, they have managed to become a part of the fabric of their part of the city. I felt like I got wrapped up in it while I was there. And the comforting (and often hilarious! we laughed a lot) fabric of our own family, too.
Before I finish talking about Coventry, I just have to say a little bit about how great it was to see my nieces and nephew there, too. I had so much fun spending time with them - they are the coolest people(!).
We went to Birmingham, Stratford-Upon-Avon (the butterfly farm and Shakespeare's Birthplace), and to Museums and attractions in Coventry, too. They were good guides, and knew so much! We had fun laughing, and learning some things, too. Thank you Claire, Jessie, and Eddie!
It was bittersweet to leave… so great to be there, and be wrapped in that warmth of family (although the weather was not so comforting :), and sad to have to go... but ready to head to France, to reconnect with the part of my heart that I found when I was a student there so many years ago.
Adieu, Coventry, and my dear family there - may all your dreams come true …
Bonjour Paris, where my old host family (and all those good old memories) await!
(Apologies all - I am at the WWOOF farm now in France, without internet access, so the update time is more lapsed than usual..!)
Coventry is a funny mix of old and new - charming medieval buildings (and extensive history) juxtaposed with modern (not so built-to-last or aesthetically pleasing). So many parts of the city are not so pretty to look at - but what I love about Coventry (aside from the fabulous people who live there - people in my family - and yes, I am a little biased! :) is that there is so much history, so much to discover. The sense you get of how impressive the town has been…(and maybe could be again?).
The name, if I remember correctly, comes from the fact that it was originally a meeting place in the countryside, where people would gather, by a big tree. A church (and later a cathedral?) was eventually built there - and one can see the foundation of one of the churches to follow, and the story of Coventry's beginning, in a park in town.
Being in the middle of England, it is where a lot of old (and current) roads and transports intersect, which helped it to grow in size and importance. It has been known for many industries over time (especially automotive and bicycles), and had some massive cathedrals. The smallest of which, St. Michael's church (still impressive in size), famously blazed after Coventry was bombed in WWII (after Dresden). The next day, when going to survey the damage, the priest found two timbers in the rubble, in the definitive shape of a cross. He found this to be a sign from God - that bombing Dresden had gone too far, that a different way must be found.
Coventry was the first town in England to welcome German students after the war - and as a testimony to the destruction of war, and what that sign meant to Coventry, the old Cathedral was left a ruin. The new Cathedral was built right next to it, and is a place dedicated to reconciliation. It houses a Center for Peace and Reconciliation, and many important pieces and objects within it were donated as symbols of solidarity in peace and reconciliation efforts, from different countries, and representing different faith traditions.
What really struck me on this visit was how many different types of industry Coventry has had and been known for - and that they have, pretty much, all left. How hard-working, skilled, and down to earth its people are, and have been - over centuries. (And the sadness of that talent and industry going to waste). It is really an impressive history. In such a small, and unassuming town.
I have benefitted from the fact that between my brother and my sister-in-law, they know almost everybody in their neighborhood. Having children in the school there, and knowing a lot of other parents, they have managed to become a part of the fabric of their part of the city. I felt like I got wrapped up in it while I was there. And the comforting (and often hilarious! we laughed a lot) fabric of our own family, too.
Before I finish talking about Coventry, I just have to say a little bit about how great it was to see my nieces and nephew there, too. I had so much fun spending time with them - they are the coolest people(!).
We went to Birmingham, Stratford-Upon-Avon (the butterfly farm and Shakespeare's Birthplace), and to Museums and attractions in Coventry, too. They were good guides, and knew so much! We had fun laughing, and learning some things, too. Thank you Claire, Jessie, and Eddie!
It was bittersweet to leave… so great to be there, and be wrapped in that warmth of family (although the weather was not so comforting :), and sad to have to go... but ready to head to France, to reconnect with the part of my heart that I found when I was a student there so many years ago.
Adieu, Coventry, and my dear family there - may all your dreams come true …
Bonjour Paris, where my old host family (and all those good old memories) await!
(Apologies all - I am at the WWOOF farm now in France, without internet access, so the update time is more lapsed than usual..!)
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Oxford on the way to Charney Manor - 2/14
From London, I took the train to Oxford, on the way to a retreat I signed up for at a place called Charney Manor. I had a little time in between when my train arrived from Paddington, and when I had to catch the 66 bus to Southmoor (where someone was going to pick me up).
Thinking getting a postcard of Oxford would be a good idea, since I would need a postcard anyway - and thinking that I might find a map of the center of town in the same place - I went to a little shop at the train station. One postcard in particular caught my attention: it said 'Oxford Botanic Garden.' That sounded like someplace that I wanted to see.
The nice woman behind the counter was kind enough to tell me what she could (it was near 'Magdalen Bridge' and there was a bus line that went by there), and let me take a look at a map without buying it. I had a plan, and I figured, enough time. I set off, with my big backpack on my back, and my rolling suitcase in tow...
Someone did tell me what bus I could take, and in the end, opted for that, as it would save quite a bit of time. The bus driver told me what stop to depart the bus, and it was an easy walk from there. The gardens were just lovely.
Spring was arriving there already...
And the ducks came over for a chat.
Ahhh.... What a lovely way to bide my time.
Then I caught the bus, and got my ride, and arrived at Charney Manor in the late afternoon. The light was breaking through some clouds, and was really something magical. What a great day. (What a nice place to end up, with a cup of tea and friendly conversation waiting.)
Thinking getting a postcard of Oxford would be a good idea, since I would need a postcard anyway - and thinking that I might find a map of the center of town in the same place - I went to a little shop at the train station. One postcard in particular caught my attention: it said 'Oxford Botanic Garden.' That sounded like someplace that I wanted to see.
The nice woman behind the counter was kind enough to tell me what she could (it was near 'Magdalen Bridge' and there was a bus line that went by there), and let me take a look at a map without buying it. I had a plan, and I figured, enough time. I set off, with my big backpack on my back, and my rolling suitcase in tow...
Someone did tell me what bus I could take, and in the end, opted for that, as it would save quite a bit of time. The bus driver told me what stop to depart the bus, and it was an easy walk from there. The gardens were just lovely.
Spring was arriving there already...
And the ducks came over for a chat.
Ahhh.... What a lovely way to bide my time.
Then I caught the bus, and got my ride, and arrived at Charney Manor in the late afternoon. The light was breaking through some clouds, and was really something magical. What a great day. (What a nice place to end up, with a cup of tea and friendly conversation waiting.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)